Page 204
“Or her distance.”
Riot looked at me, then back toward the woods.
“Or whether she doubled back.”
“Circled,” Dad added.
“Crossed the same ground twice.”
“Three times.”
They stopped. I stared at them.
They weren’t doubting me. That was worse.
They believed me and still had almost nothing to work with.
The medic stood. “We need to move her.”
Dad nodded. “I’m coming.”
“So am I,” Mom said immediately.
Declan didn’t say anything.
He just shifted with me when the medic did.
Nobody told him not to.
The hospital cleaned me up piece by piece. Fluids. Bloodwork. X-rays on my ankle and knee.
Both heels cleaned and wrapped. Scratches washed.
Cuts dressed. Someone checked my pupils often enough that I started considering charging admission.
Nothing was broken. Dehydration. Exhaustion. A mild ankle sprain. Torn skin. Bruising. Blisters.
More cuts than anyone bothered counting.
My body looked like I had spent the entire day running through Texas brush because apparently that was exactly what I had done.
Dad kept disappearing into the hallway to take calls. Riot stayed with the search.
Mom sat on one side of me. Declan took the other.
Neither of them went far.
At some point, a nurse cleaned beneath my fingernails.
I watched the blood disappear down the drain. That bothered me more than it should have.
Hours later, Dad came back into the room. I knew from his face.
“Nothing?”
He pulled the chair closer and sat. “No. Nothing yet.”
I looked at my hands. Clean now. Too clean. I was the only one that could lead them back there, and I’d been running, lost, for hours.
